


The Fight for Hell (and Joe's Soul)

by Fandomanon



Category: Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-28 16:37:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5097641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fandomanon/pseuds/Fandomanon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brendon's gone to Hell, and he's gonna take over. He's not expecting to see Joe though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this: http://fandomanon.tumblr.com/post/132064543241/
> 
> What the fuck am I doing and why am doing it. Tell me if it should be continued

When Brendon kicked down the door to Hell, he honestly hadn’t been expecting the scene he had walked in on.

 

“Sup,” he had announced to the room. “Your new king has arrived.”

 

Sure, he expected _something_  weird--a little destruction, a little torture, definitely some lust. But this?

 

“Oh, hey Brendon,” Joe said, from where he was standing next to--Tommy Lee?

 

Tommy Lee looked away from Joe, whose face he was cradling. “Well, this is awkward,” he said finally, but he didn’t stop holding up his hand to Joe’s mouth. “If you’ll give us a moment--”

 

Brendon ignored him. “Uh, Joe. What exactly are you... _doing_...in hell?”

 

“Oh, you know,” he said casually, not even attempting to move out of Tommy Lee’s bruising grip. “Just doing drugs with Satan.”

 

Brendon blinked. “Huh,” he said slowly. “Uh, good for you buddy?”

 

“Thanks,” Joe said, and he opened his mouth to say more, but Tommy Lee pressed the pill into his mouth, smoothing his thumb over Joe’s bottom lip as a reward when he swallowed it obediently.

 

“So,” Tommy Lee said, looking at Brendon again. “You wanna be the King of Hell, huh? Sorry kid, but I’ve been here a long time--it’s gonna take more than a few words for me to give this gig up.”

 

He finally let go of Joe’s jaw, motioning to the rest of the room. “Have you seen this place? Why the fuck would I want to retire from this?”

 

Brendon straightened up to his full height--five inches shorter than Tommy Lee, not including their horns. “That doesn’t change the fact that Hell needs a new ruler, and it’s me. So if you’ll just step away from Joe, and stuff, I’ll take over.”

 

Tommy Lee, being contrary, did exactly the opposite. He grabbed Joe’s waist and dragged him closer, which made Joe blink up at him confusedly.

 

“Um. What?” Joe finally asked, not moving. “Can you...let me go?”

 

It just made Tommy Lee clutch him more possessively. “No, I can’t. Terribly sorry, but--to put it simply--you’re mine.”

 

“Uh huh.” Joe said slowly. “So I don’t get a choice in this, do I?”

 

“Not at all.” He moved to grab Joe’s hand, rubbing his fingers across the new tattoo, which made Joe shiver. “Even if I _did_ decide to retire--” he glanced at Brendon pointedly. “Which I won’t be doing, by the way--you’d be coming with me, of course.”

 

Brendon spluttered, and his wings flapped in annoyance. “You can’t do that--if anything, he’s mine! I knew him first!”

 

Joe looked between them both, frowning. “Uh. How about we agree that I don’t belong to anyone.” He paused, and tried to remove himself from Tommy Lee’s hold.

 

When that didn’t work, he gave up, and tried a different tactic. “Right, okay. I think I really would like to belong to Brendon, in this case. Or, well. Be with him, instead?”

 

Tommy Lee looked down at him, eyebrow arched. “Right,” he said smoothly. “Fine. We’ll have a contest then, shall we? For Hell, and your soul.”

 

Brendon didn’t even bother to let Joe speak. “Done. Let go of Joe and let's do this thing.”

 

Tommy Lee released Joe, and with a snap Joe had disappeared. When Brendon glanced around the room wildly, he saw him again.

 

Joe was sitting in the throne, but he looked far from comfortable--perhaps it had something to do with the collar, tight around his throat, and attached to the throne by a chain.

 

Brendon took a deep breath, and nodded firmly, stepping forward to face Tommy Lee, and he held out his hand, to shake his. “Let’s do this shit then.”

 

The girls around the room laughed at his bravado, and a few of them wandered over to sit near the throne, by Joe.

 

He was perfectly fine with that--except that, y’know, he was on a leash.

 

“This is demeaning,” he complained. “And I really don’t think I should have something around my neck, you know? I did die by being strangled. This is just a cruel mockery.”

 

One of the girls patted his knee sympathetically. “Oh, hon. You don’t know what cruel mockery is yet. I suggest you just sit back and let the nice men fight over you.”

 

He slumped back against the throne and crossed his arms across his chest, as he watched Brendon and Tommy Lee continue to grip each other’s hands tightly, Brendon’s claws digging into Tommy Lee’s skin.

 

“So,” Tommy Lee said finally, releasing Brendon’s hand. “For the first contest I propose--”

 

“Fiddle duel?” Brendon interjected, and Tommy Lee looked at him oddly.

 

“I’m a _drummer_ ,” he said slowly, like Brendon wasn’t getting it. “Did you...did you get your knowledge of hell from country songs?”

 

“I grew up a _Mormon_. I know a few things about hell, but judging by what I see when I look around here, those don’t really count,” Brendon said, just as slowly.

 

Tommy Lee finally shook his head and sighed. “Right, well. No to the fiddle duel. Drum duel though, I can do.”

 

Brendon nodded, once again looking serious--as serious as he could, being that he had horns sprouting from his head and shoulders and he was gray and half naked. “Fine. We need a judge though. An impartial one, mind you.”

 

Tommy Lee looked thoughtful for one long moment, before a wide smile grew over his face. “I can think of one. Just give me a moment to call him up.”

 

Brendon folded his arms (it was a bit awkward, with the claws, but he made it work) and switched his gaze over to Joe, who looked, well. _Bored_ , actually.

 

That wasn’t really expected--truthfully, he thought there’d be some sort of terror, or _something_.

 

He edged closer, so he could talk to Joe.

 

“So,” he started out awkwardly. “How are you doing?”

 

Joe looked up at him, baffled. “I’m chained to a throne in hell after I was strangled by one of my best friends, and I’m pretty sure this is all a hallucination as a result of the drugs I was given by the cult that kidnapped me. How do you think I feel?”

 

Brendon coughed. “Right.” He paused. “Wait, who killed you?”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Joe waved his hand vaguely. “Patrick. He was like, possessed? Maybe. Or brainwashed. Couldn’t tell. He had a hook hand though. They cut off his hand to send to Pete as a warning.”

 

Brendon whistled quietly, jumping a bit when Tommy Lee coughed behind him.

 

“Well, the judge will be here soon enough, so if you’ll just step away from the prize--” Tommy Lee said, shooing Brendon away from the throne.

 

“Hey,” Joe protested immediately. “I’m not the prize--and could you please undo the collar? It’s not like I have anywhere to go.”

 

Tommy Lee raised an eyebrow, and took a step closer, brushing his mouth against Joe’s ear, “I know that, but you look so good with my mark on you, and my collar on your neck.”

 

Joe stilled, flushing a little when Tommy Lee tilted his head up for a kiss before stepping away.

 

Brendon stared at him for a long, uncomfortable moment, before he finally glanced away, towards the door, which he had kicked in.

 

There stood--

 

“Patrick?” Brendon said, confused, and Patrick--who definitely seemed to have both his hands, and horns--was standing, brushing off his red suit.

 

He looked at Brendon, and blinked. “Brendon? What are you doing here?”

 

“I died. Some doctors--but that’s not important. What are _you_  doing here?”

 

Patrick glanced over at Tommy Lee, who was standing in front of the throne, blocking his view of it. “I’m the impartial judge, I guess. So, you’re the one who wants to rule hell?”

 

“Yeah, but seriously--didn’t you lose a hand?”

 

Patrick blinked at him, and then looked down at both of his hands. “No? I think you’re thinking of my human avatar. I don’t really have control over that.” He coughed. “Anyways, I was told there was also a soul in this pot as well?”

 

Tommy Lee stepped away from the throne, and Patrick’s mouth dropped open. Joe waved awkwardly.

 

“Hey, dude. Nice to see you looking...intact. And you’re looking very Soul Punk too. Nice.”

 

Patrick still looked wide eyed--the mascara didn’t help, either. “Thank you. I’m sorry that I killed you.”

 

Joe shrugged. “What’s done is done.” He paused. “Although I’d really like it if you let Brendon win--um, no offense, Satan Tommy Lee. But I’m just not into the whole being owned thing.”

 

Tommy Lee smirked at him, and Joe sank back further into the throne, making some of the girls titter, before Tommy Lee turned back at Patrick.

 

“I hope this won’t be a problem? I don’t want you favoring one of us over another, since you know him.”

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Patrick shifted on his feet, glancing between Tommy Lee and Brendon, not looking at Joe once. “Well,” he drawled out. “I _do_  have a foot in each worlds, so I mean. I have reasons for favoring and not favoring both of you. So I suppose that I mean, no, it won’t be a problem at all. Let the games begin, or whatever you’re doing.”

 

Tommy Lee clapped his hands together, and looked pleased. “I don't want this battle to be biased, so I’ll allow Mr. Urie to summon his own drums and put his kit together, so he can't blame me if it's flawed. If you'll all step closer I’ll change the domain around a bit to make it easier to move about.”

 

Brendon and Patrick stepped closer, and with a twist of his hand Tommy Lee morphed the environment. No longer was it a dim and hazy strip club--instead it was a large and spacious stage, with two raised platforms, one of which already had a drum kit on it.

 

The only thing remaining from the club was the throne, and those who were sitting on it when it moved. The girls dispersed gradually when Tommy Lee glanced at them, heading down to the seats at the front of the stage, until only Joe remained.

 

And Joe was not really happy about that. He squirmed under their gaze, and kept toying with the collar, and the leash, as if he could find a seam and take it off. Taking pity on him though, Patrick moved closer, calling back to Brendon and Tommy Lee, “you two set up--I'm going to watch, make sure you don't try to cheat.”

 

Brendon huffed, and went to the empty platform, presumably to try and figure out how to summon his drum set, while Patrick sidled up to Joe, who sat up, as if embarrassed he'd been caught.

 

“So,” Patrick quietly. “I'm guessing you want that off, don't you?”

 

Joe turned to look at him, eyes wide with relief. “Yeah--can you get it off please? I’ll owe you one.” He took his hands away from the collar and tilted his neck up when Patrick touched his neck softly, and swallowed hard, eyes not leaving Patrick's face.

 

Patrick hummed, and he raised an eyebrow. “I can, yes. The problem is you've been clawing at the poor thing--look at it, it's all sad.” Joe faltered, looking confused, and Patrick slid a finger under the collar, which promptly collapsed into his hand like a puddle.

 

“Uh. What? How did you--?”

 

“It's an easy enough trick,” he said dismissively. “It's just like--you know Venom, from Spider-Man? That's basically what this little fellow is. It's a symbiote--granted, it won't give you superpowers. He--Tommy Lee--uses it as collars all the time. It's easier, since only someone with enough satanic influence and make it come off.”

 

“I do hope you're not trying to seduce my prize, Stump,” Tommy Lee called from across the stage, where he was lounging on the platform. “I’d hate to have to get a new judge if I killed your new form.”

 

Patrick made a face, and flipped him off. “He was mine first,” he called back. “You only got him because my human avatar was stupid enough to kill him.”

 

Tommy Lee waved at him dismissively. “That's nice, dear. Now be a good impartial judge and put the collar back on what's mine.”


	4. Chapter 4

Brendon shifted a bit, awkwardly. “Um, no offense guys, but like. Can we not fight over Joe? I thought I was going for, y’know, the King of Hell position.”

 

Tommy Lee sighed, and summoned his drum sticks. “You are, and he’s a prize that comes with it--which is why I want to get this over with, and get back to that.”

 

Joe made a distressed sort of sound, whether from Tommy Lee’s words or the fact that the collar was nearly strangling him, they were unsure. Still though, Brendon wrinkled his nose.

 

“Yeah, no. Seriously, Joe, dude, you’re hot, and I’d totally do you, like, under nicer circumstances, but when I win the position I’ll let you go free, okay? Cause like, me? I know I’ve probably earned my place in hell, for, well. A whole lot of shit. But I can’t really think of any reason you’d be down here besides a mistake.” He paused. “Or if smoking weed was against heaven’s creed. _Is_  it against God or something?”

 

Patrick, having finished fiddling with the collar, sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, smoking weed is not against God, Brendon. Contrary to the belief of those down on earth, if it exists, it’s God’s way. Or something. I haven’t been to church in years, I don’t even know what I’m saying right now.”

 

“Yeah, that’s good to know and all, but seriously, I’m Jewish? And the Christian concept of heaven and hell isn’t the same for me so I’m pretty sure I don’t belong here any--”

 

Joe was abruptly cut short when the collar tightened more around his throat, choking him. His eyes were watering as he scratched at it ineffectively, and Brendon lurched forward, as if he could help. Tommy Lee only looked on, amused.

 

“If you’re _quite_  finished...prizes are to be seen and not heard, dearest, unless told otherwise.”

 

Although he was choking, Joe still found it in himself to flip Tommy Lee off, which is finally when Patrick intervened. 

 

“Seriously,” he said, feigning boredom. “You called me down here for a drum battle for the role of King of Hell, not to watch you squabble like children and choke my human self’s friend. Can we get this over with already? I have other things I could be doing.”

 

With a sigh Tommy Lee nodded, and the collar loosened around Joe’s neck--not much, only enough that he could breathe freely--before he stood fluidly, twirling his drumsticks as he walked behind his kit and sat down.

 

“I presume the challenger wants to go first, as is his given right?” He asked, not even looking at Brendon.

 

Regardless, Brendon puffed up, and glanced over at Patrick, who gave him a subtle, encouraging nod. “Yeah, I do actually. Isn’t that how the song goes? The fiddle player goes first and you try to beat him by involving a band and you suck so badly that you admit defeat?”

 

Tommy Lee’s eyes flashed. “You know,” he said softly, “I really wouldn’t be trying to annoy me, if I were you. If you lose--which is likely--you’ll be stuck down here, and I can hold a grudge.”

 

Brendon scoffed, and he went back  to ignoring him, eyeing his empty stage for a moment, before his eyes screwed up in concentration.

 

With a puff of vaguely sparkly, purple fog, a drum set appeared. And, judging by it’s looks, it was a replica of the one Brendon had at home--or it may have actually _been_  the drum set from Brendon’s home.

  
Joe eyed Patrick, who immediately shoved his hands in his pockets, looking way too innocent for his own good, but Brendon looked relieved, circling his kit and making sure it was still properly tuned before he sat down behind it.


End file.
